In Praise of the Humble Odyssey
by CagedOphelia
Summary: The Patron-Minette steals Enjolras' documents for a police bribe; Eponine gets caught in the heist and is forced to help recover the documents. Will she help her family or support her new friends? What could be waiting for her along the way? And how crazy can one night possibly be? M for cursing and some sexual content. I do not own anything.
1. Eponine's Errand

She had enjoyed ten years of being totally irresponsible. Just her, with her parents, her sister, and her brother. The five of them could take on the world, and they could take it on together. Until, one day, her tenth birthday, when a man came to the inn with a grim smirk and a manila folder. And then her life had flipped upside down and the entire group, the merry marauders, the fearless five had to move to a dirty old brick hovel with a colorful, inspirational painting of a black woman looking to the sky with arms open.

And now it all led up to this. Here she was. Alone in her room, as usual. Her tan forearm was tossed over her closed dark brown eyes, shutting out the threadbare and filthy world around her. Her oversized headphones, filched from some unexpecting metro passenger, surrounded her head and pounded out angry punk music. Her lower lip trembled, making her silver lip ring shake, as she thought of the boy next door and his stupid whore.

"Éponine, you get out of there. We have work to do," came a loud voice, scratchy, even audible over her loud, pounding music. "Come on, girl."

"What do you want now," groaned Éponine, pressing the pause button on her iPhone, another stolen good.

A tall, gaunt man blocked the little sunlight from coming through her door as he stood in the frame. "We have a job to do."

"Seriously, Dad? I've finished with that life. I'm not doing it anymore."

No sooner had she enunciated the last syllable than her father had crossed to her twin-sized bed from the other side of the room and grabbed her sweatshirt. "Eponine, I swear to God, I did not raise you like this. If you don't do this, I will have my way with you. Don't make me do to you what I did to your sister," he hissed.

She laughed with mirth. "Oh, like throwing me out on the street to the dogs is any worse than this. Whatever. I'll fucking do it. Just don't make me fucking work with Montparnasse."

Two hours later, Eponine was sitting on her kitchen counter, dressed in black leggings, a black tank top, a black jacket, and black combat boots, dark hair in a ponytail, arms crossed, and a scowl on her face, for her one and only sworn enemy had just crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

"It's been so long," taunted the tall, slim man, with too-long sideburns and skinny jeans. "I haven't seen you in what feels like forever. Won't you give Montparnasse a little kiss?" He leaned in and nudged her chin upwards, going in to pinch her cheeks and hold her face.

Éponine hocked up a good ball of saliva and spit it in the offender's face, swinging her leg slightly so that her steel-toed boot kicked her childhood friend where it would hurt the most. She watched with pleasure as his face contorted in pain and insult.

"You'll regret that, Spitfire," he hissed.

"I won't regret a thing, asshole," she retorted. "What's the job today?"

Montparnasse straightened his back, drawing himself to his full height, seemingly still smarting from pain. Six foot four, was he? She couldn't tell. From her five foot three, anything taller seemed impossible to tell. "We have to case a house. Apartment, really. The bobbies gave us this one."

Eponine's jaw dropped. "You mean...we're doing this one for the police? Why? What?"

"You look like you're trying to catch flies, Ponine. Anyways-"

"Don't call me 'Ponine," she muttered darkly.

"Fine. Éponine. Well, we're getting shit from a...what's it called...an enemy of the state. This guy is trying to overthrow the government, and the judge isn't getting the bobbies a warrant. That's where we come in."

"But we haven't bribed the police in seven years. We don't do that anymore," Éponine said warily, sliding down from the counter. "The last time that happened, it completely backfired. This is a horrible idea."

Montparnasse chuckled and slapped Éponine's bottom. "We grab a few files, get out, give them to the police, and get guaranteed protection for three years. Eh, he seems like a rich asshole. We can get a few things for ourselves. Leave the thinking to the men, babe."

Éponine set her jaw. "I swear to God, Montparnasse. I don't even want to do this. I just don't want to get fucking killed by my father."

"Come on, babe. We've done crazier shit than this. Let's go." Montparnasse forced the distracted Éponine's lips together for a quick peck, and pushed her shoulder, making her stumble towards the door. It was time.


	2. Cup of Tea

Sebastien Enjolras turned on the faucet of his stainless-steel sink. He put his index finger under the spigot, testing the temperature, waiting for the water to get warm enough to boil quickly. It was a cold April night, unseasonably so, and Enjolras definitely felt the warmth leave his body through each open patch of skin. He determined the water to be warm enough, and then slid his black teakettle over top of the granite countertop toward the sink, which he then picked up and dangled underneath of the stream of water.

"Tea again, Enjolras?" came a voice from behind his back, startling the blond.

"Dammit, Combeferre, I told you not to do that," said Enjolras, not even having to turn to see who it was. "I assume you want some, too?" He turned to look at his friend.

Combeferre pushed his glasses up his nose. "Of course. You know me. I drink tea nonstop. Joly says it's good for health, but I just think it's good for the soul."

Enjolras smirked. "You're smarter than anyone I know, so I'll take your word for it." He filled the kettle up, enough for three cups of tea, and turned to place it on the stove.

"That's a lot of water for two cups," remarked Combeferre. "Why are you heating so mu-"

Just then, the front door of the apartment burst open to reveal a shaggy, unshaven dark-haired young man with paint splatters covering him head to toe.

"Make me some tea, too," the man said automatically.

"Hello to you, too, Grantaire. I've already put enough for you in the kettle," Enjolras said smoothly.

Combeferre whistled. "That's just impressive."

Enjolras replied with a shrug and a grin, surreptitiously tapping his temple. "It's a gift."

Grantaire was already sitting down at the kitchen table, wolfing down half of a torn-apart baguette. "You have no food here. I'm disappointed. Just bread. Is there anything more stereotypically French? You're not even French. You just pretend to be French."

"Grantaire, we're all French," said Combeferre gently. "We might live in DC, but I promise, we are all French. Why else would our names all sound like they came out of a French novel from the 1800s?"

Enjolras snorted at the exact same time as the teakettle began to howl. "You're insane." He plopped three tea bags into three separate mugs: green tea for Combeferre, chai for Grantaire, and plain black for himself. "Drink up."

Grantaire grabbed his teacup as soon as the water was poured and tipped liquid from an unmarked silver flask into it. "Nightcap," he growled at the others defensively.

Combeferre backed off, hands in the air, as he innocently grabbed his teacup. "I'll just head off to bed, now," he said, gliding over to his room, lifting a book off the counter and tucking it under his arm for a nighttime delight.

"I should probably go, too," yawned Grantaire, scratching the back of his neck with dirty fingernails and painted hands. "Hey, Jolras, mind if I crash on the couch?"

"You do all the time anyways," remarked the blond boy. "Fine. I'll go to bed, too. Good night, Grantaire. Enjoy the tea."

"I will! You sure you don't want a splash?"

"I'm sure. Thanks, though, R. See you in the morning." Enjolras gave a half-hearted wave as he headed off to his bedroom. It had been a long day of legal studies, and he was eager to give it a rest for six hours.


	3. Attack at Mass Ave

It was dark. Three o'clock in the morning tended to be pretty dark, at least from Eponine's experience.

"This is the building, 'Ponine."

"What did I say about calling me 'Ponine?" Eponine growled at Montparnasse.

Montparnasse scowled at her. "Do you want to case this place or not?"

Eponine rolled her nut brown eyes. "Actually, I don't. This is a terrible idea and I really don't want to fucking do it."

"No need to get so aggressive," Montparnasse chided. "This isn't an audition tape for the Sopranos."

"No need to talk down to me," Eponine retorted. "I'm not your toy."

Montparnasse wheeled his hand back, preparing to punch the girl, who ducked just in time as his fist hit the brick wall. He hissed in pain. "You'll regret that."

"Do you want to case this place or not?" Eponine imitated. "Come on. Let's do what we came here to do and then get the hell out."

Montparnasse swore at her, and then linked his hands together to give her a boost. Their old signal, their old routine. It felt like the olden days, but it wasn't, and it would never be that way again. They could pretend and try to be the same accomplices they used to be, but it wouldn't work, not after what happened. "No matter," Eponine said to herself under her breath, and then pounded her foot into Montparnasse's folded hands, bouncing slightly as she leaped towards the escalated fire escape.

Montparnasse whistled. "You get me so hard when you do that."

Eponine flipped him off, not smiling. "Come on. Let's just get this over with."

"You haven't forgotten. You ain't done this in, what, six months?"

"It's like riding a bike," Eponine muttered. She bounced in midair, thankful that she'd been trained in gymnastics as a child. The rusty fire escape slid down with a clang, and she got the same rush she always did when falling towards the earth, swinging her legs up just in time before she landed too hard. She helped herself up as Montparnasse, arms crossed, looked hard at the window.

"Third floor. Hard escape."

"Third floor. More fun. You'll stand guard here, I assume," Eponine stated.

"Nah. I'll come with you. Aint nobody who knows the documents they need more than I do."

Eponine huffed. _There went my plan of running off as soon as he turned his head._

"Are we doing this or nah?" an impatient Montparnasse interrupted her thoughts.

The girl nodded, zipped her black jacket up to her chin, tightened her ponytail, and silently began the ascent up the rusty, creaky stairs, her partner in crime three steps behind her.

"Mm, baby, your ass looks so good in those pants," murmured Montparnasse. "I can't wait to get home so I can get some of that."

Eponine whirled around, hair flying. "Fuck you," she said, looking straight into his eyes. She turned back, continuing the climb.

"Why you gotta be so frigid?"

"Why you gotta be such an asshole?" Eponine retorted. "I don't think I'd sleep with you in a million years."

Montparnasse grabbed her ponytail, holding her tight from behind on the landing of the second level. She felt something cold and metal, a whisper of a threat, trace her neck. "You won't sass me, girl. You'll give to me what's mine," he breathed into her ear.

"Let's just case this place."

"That's the spirit, Spitfire," he whispered, planting a sloppy kiss on the side of her mouth from behind, slipping a greasy hand down the front of her leggings. It was all Eponine could do not to fight back, but she couldn't; the knife was still at her throat. It was all Eponine could do not to cry, but she couldn't; Eponine Thenardier did not cry. So Eponine calmly slipped her own hand into her leggings and removed his larger hand, smiling humorlessly. "We have to go."

"There's more where that came from, girl," Montparnasse grinned, slipping his index finger into his mouth and making an audible sigh of delight.

Eponine scoffed and continued climbing, heart beating and breaking at the same time.

It wasn't two minutes later that they got to the sliding door they knew was right and the window to the left of it. "Ladies first?" Montparnasse asked politely.

But Eponine was already on it. She opened her wallet and grabbed her fake identification card. She never used it, never _had _to use it, really, unless she was on the job. So Eponine took her card, jammed it in the space between the door and the lock, and jimmied it up and down and left and right until the lock opened with a _spring_.

"You haven't lost your touch," Montparnasse started.

"Shut the _fuck _up." The girl quietly pushed the window open, praying for no noise. She then jumped slightly, situating her bottom on the dusty windowsill. She deftly maneuvered her slim body into the window, putting her arms in to land in a silent tumble.

Her eyes squinted as she tried to take in the dark scene around her. She pivoted to open the door behind her so the larger Montparnasse could enter, too. "Five minutes," she breathed into his ear. Five minutes until they had to go.

"On it," he muttered back, and he turned to scamper into the office room, flashlight in hand.

Eponine stood watch by the kitchen cabinets. She ran a finger over the granite, feeling its smooth chill echo the one rolling up her spine. The girl then realized what she had just done, and wiped whatever fingerprints there might have been off with her sleeve.

She then thought of Montparnasse in the next room. Why, oh why had he grown into such a scumbag? First they had been friends. As soon as she moved to the brick hovel, the young neighbor down the hall had helped her learn to love her new home. Then they were schoolmates. And then came the one day that her father had learned of Montparnasse and had taken him under his wing. Not two days later had he turned into the monster he was today; not two days later had he held her down, gun to temple, and assaulted her, tears streaming down her face, mouth open in a perpetual, silent scream. She had said no. She had said stop. But her former best friend hadn't listened, and he didn't stop listening to this day.

Speaking of Montparnasse, what was that _clang_ from the next room? And why was he tearing past her silently through the door?

_Wait. Did he get caught and he's not even fucking taking me away with him?_

The lights switched on. Eponine shielded her eyes, squinting until she could bear the brightness. Her small form stood strong, not reflecting her thoughts, which were pretty much going _oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit_.

Her eyes adjusted to the light almost as soon as the man on the other side of the room's did. She defiantly looked him in the eye, not bothering to look down.

"What are you doing in he-wait. You're the shadow," laughed Enjolras, not bothing to hide his disgust.

"So this is your apartment then, Enjolras," she smirked. _Shit. I know him._


	4. Caught

"So you're working alone, then."

"Sure," Eponine replied absentmindedly, propped up on Enjolras' counter, twirling a loose strand of dark hair around her index finger. _How had it come to this?_

"Why did you come? What is here for you?" Enjolras asked. His eyes snapped.

"I thought it would be better than selling my body for the night," she retorted dryly. "What, do you think I want to fucking do this with my life?"

He seemed taken aback. "I suppose not. But why here? What did you come for?"

Eponine rolled her eyes and hopped off the counter. "You really don't want to know that. It'll just upset you."

"Nothing could upset me more than not knowing," he said stiffly, too politely.

"Come on, bourgeoise boy," she muttered. "You don't think there's something that we want? Use your brain for once."

"I use my brain all the t-" He was cut short by his own thoughts. "It's not for those papers."

The girl's attention was hardly on him. She was desperately scanning the room for escape, concealing her search by pretending to thoroughly examine her nailbeds. "What do you think, Enjolras? The bobbies cut us a deal. We took it. Do you really think I wanted to do it? This really has been a lovely chat. Let's do it again sometime." And with that, she slunk down to underneath his gaze and leapt towards the window she'd cracked beforehand.

"Not so fast," he said, grabbing her wrist.

"Fuck you! Let go of me!" she whined.

"You're not leaving unless those documents are in my file cabinet exactly where I left them," he hissed, ice blue eyes like daggers in her dark brown ones.

_Swear to God, Montparnasse, if you got those, you're dead to me._ She painted a frozen smile on her heart-shaped face. "Fine."

"Grantaire! Combeferre!" he barked, not taking his eyes off of hers. Suddenly, two sleepy, confused men turned the corner.

"Hey! That's Marius' shadow!" smiled Combeferre. "What's she doing here?"

"My _name _is Eponine," she growled, changing her fiery gaze to meet his surprised one. "I'd be _ever _so honored if you could call me that."

"Huh. I don't think I knew that," said Enjolras casually, almost mocking, still holding her wrists.

"I did," volunteered Grantaire.

Eponine snorted. "And I care what the drunkard knows of my life. Just let me go."

"Hmm, can't do that. Sorry," Enjolras said. "We can't let those documents get away."

Eponine rolled her eyes. "What are you going to do, restrain me until you figure out they're still here?"


	5. A Deal

It wasn't there.

Enjolras should have been surprised. But his weary eyes showed no sign of shock as he glanced from the file cabinet to the tied and gagged Eponine, unceremoniously dumped on the beige carpet. Maybe they had gone a bit overboard. But this was no laughing matter. This was the entire fate of the revolution. If the police found out now, there would be no chance of change. Who cared that they could get jail for the rest of their lives? The people would remain oppressed, and that wasn't somewhere he cared to keep them.

"Care to explain why they aren't there?" he growled at her.

Combeferre and Grantaire were in the corner, shocked at their leader's sudden fury. _Good. Let them be afraid._

The girl rolled her eyes and crossed them to gesture to the gag so unceremoniously tied against her thin face. Enjolras reached around the back of her head to untie Grantaire's black bandana, and tossed it back to the owner, who caught it, still shocked at the callousness.

"Do you want the whole truth?"

"You have a lot of explaining to do. And I swear to God, if you lie, the people will decide your fate."

Eponine smirked again. _She has a tendency of doing that._ "Your people will be nothing if the police get the documents. Your people won't have a fighting chance of doing anything to me. The bobbies have me protected. You can't change that without the papers, can you?"

Enjolras took it in. "Well, I guess not."

"So what's in it for me?"

Enjolras drew a blank. He looked at Grantaire and Combeferre, eyebrows knit in confusion.

Suddenly, Combeferre's jaw dropped. He steadily stalked over to Enjolras' crouching form and Eponine's tied one.

"We can help you."

"I don't need help."

"We can help you get to know Marius."

Her eyes flickered, but then she seemed to control it. "I already know Marius. He's my neighbor."

Combeferre rolled his eyes in an almost friendly manner. He had a half-smile on his face that anyone would be forced to enjoy. "Not like that, Eponine, and you know it. We know Marius. We can set something up with you and Marius if you give us that information."

The girl's tiny, frail body inhaled. She seemed to consider it. Enjolras subtly fist-bumped Combeferre.

"Untie me and we'll go to get the papers. My partner took them, must have. He ran off when Enjolras woke up. He must have nabbed them real quick. Not sure if he made it to the bobbies or is just back home. Come on, let's go."

Enjolras and Combeferre shared a look, and then glanced at Grantaire, still cowering in the corner. He took the flask out from his back pocket and shrugged as he unscrewed the lid. "What choice do we have but to trust her?"

Eponine smiled. "Let's go, then." She stood up and easily slipped the rope off her hands, rope splitting apart in a neat and even break.

"You cut the rope," Enjolras breathed, hardly daring to believe what he saw.

"Like Grantaire said, you have to trust me." She grinned, grabbed his hand, and dashed out of the room towards the fire escape.


	6. To The Bar

Eponine shut the door silently behind her. She put a finger to her lips, signaling Enjolras, Grantaire, and Combeferre to keep quiet and not make noise.

She turned her back and led the three down the dark hallway, using her phone flashlight as the only source of brightness.

There was a tumble behind her. She heard someone crash to the ground, hissing as he went. She pivoted and shined the light directly into the noise-maker's face.

It was Grantaire.

"Sorry, 'Ponine, I just - "

Her eyes turned to stone as she grabbed his hand to help him up. "Be more careful next time," she growled into his ear. He nodded viciously, obviously afraid of her. Good. That was just how she liked it.

"Where are we going?" Combeferre muttered into her ear. "And why do we have to be quiet?"

She turned. "Combeferre, it's one o'clock in the morning. Doesn't leaving seem a bit suspicious? And we're going to get the papers back."

"I knew that. Where are the papers?"

"With Montparnasse, I know that much," she replied quietly. "And that will be impossible. With Montparnasse or worse. The police."

"Do you think he already gave them up?"

She laughed without humor. "Probably not. He likes to celebrate his victories before actually winning. Counting his chickens. He's probably at the bar, which is not somewhere I care to be, but I have no choice."

"Do we need backup?" Combeferre asked, pushing wire-rimmed glasses up his thin nose.

"I think we'll be fine," muttered the girl, turning down the spiral stairwell towards the exit. "I can talk that boy into anything. Usually."

Enjolras walked ahead of her and unlocked the door from the inside to leave the building.

"Fancy building," noted Eponine. "You must really not want to get stolen from."

Grantaire snorted. "Look where that landed us."

Enjolras glanced darkly at Grantaire. "I don't need this right now. I just need those files." He patted his leather messenger bag. _I don't remember him bringing that. _"I really do."

"How badly?" Grantaire dared to question.

"Really badly. The fate of the people is in our hands."

Eponine spun, cold night air suddenly blasting her hair from her face. "Really, Enjolras? Do you think this is actually going to change _anything_? One protest won't change the world. I'm sorry to break it to you. This problem isn't something that can be changed in a day."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "One leads to another, which leads to another, which leads to positive social change."

Grantaire nudged Eponine. "I wouldn't put him on edge," he murmured into her ear. "Remember what you're here for."

She nodded, straightened her back, and bit her tongue. "I'm sorry, Enjolras, I didn't think that through, apparently," she remarked sweetly. "Now come on. We have a bar to go to."


	7. And We're Off

Enjolras immediately turned the corner after leaving the apartment and fished his car keys from his pocket and tapped twice on the _unlock_ button.

Eponine let out a low whistle. "I didn't think we'd have a ride. Sweet."

Enjolras laughed humorlessly. "I don't suppose you thought we would walk?"

Combeferre subtly nudged him in the ribs. "Um, Enjolras, when do you think the last time she was in a car was?" he muttered into his ear.

But Eponine didn't seem to have heard. She dashed up to the car and stood impatiently by the shotgun door, reaching for something in her jacket. She pulled out what looked like a credit card and it looked like she was…trying to…

"Eponine, it's unlocked," said Grantaire airily. "Just get in the car."

"Oh. Right." In the glow of the streetlights, Enjolras could make out a hint of a blush on her cheekbones. "Sorry." She pulled her slim frame into the car.

_She's not used to having a car. She's not used to this. This isn't something she knows._

Shaking his head slightly, he opened the drivers' side door to the small red Prius. Combeferre and Grantaire followed suit.

"Why does she get front seat?" grumbled Grantaire.

"I will TURN THIS CAR AROUND," hissed Enjolras, eyes snapping like fire.

Eponine snorted as Enjolras slid into the car. "Okay, Father."

Enjolras rolled his eyes.

"So, where are we going anyways?" Grantaire asked from the backseat.

Eponine's eyes took a faraway look. Enjolras knew that she was remembering, trying to remember, trying to bring back the memories she'd probably suppressed for years and years and years. And then something snapped. Her dark brown eyes slid back into focus.

"Southeast. The House."

"Do you know the address?" asked Enjolras. He'd never heard of that place. Southeast, though.

"No," Eponine said softly.

"Grantaire, do you know?"

"I haven't been down there since freshman year," he chortled.

Combeferre cleared his throat from behind the driver's seat. "I've found it. Google is a great thing." He passed his black iPhone up to Enjolras.

Enjolras clutched the phone and showed the screen to Eponine. "This is right?"

She nodded, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah. This is it."

"And you're sure Montparnasse is there?"

"As sure as anyone ever could be," she snapped. "Come on. I'm telling you what I know. And if he's not there, then we can go to the building. We'll fucking find him, just drive, please, before I lose my mind and jump out of the car."

"You wouldn't," Combeferre assured her. "You've got too much to lose."

Eponine did nothing but snap herself backwards to stare at Combeferre. "Please. Remember that you can't control me."

And so they drove. Enjolras couldn't help but think _what if, what if, what if_? He needed those documents. What if they were gone? What if they had already been taken to the police? What if Eponine was the key to saving the revolution?

He was in such a daze that he only woke when Eponine pulled up on the emergency brake.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, startled.

"We're here. You weren't slowing down. Let's go." She opened the door in the middle of the street and hopped out. "Are you coming or not?"


End file.
